Fresh Fields (14 page)

“You're doing a good job,” she said.

He didn't dare look up.

“Do you think you'll enjoy being one of the gang?” she asked.

He nodded without looking up.

“You don't have to be shy with us,” she said. “We won't eat you.”

He forced himself to look up and saw she was smiling at him, then she continued down the stairs. For a few moments the youth felt a sense of lightness and ease. Then there came a burst of giggling. He saw Natalie and Sharlene with their heads together at the ticket box. He saw Sharlene look in his direction. He stared down at the carpet and tried to focus all his concentration on the movements of the broom. He told himself the giggles weren't about him. He knew that he was over-sensitive and needed to fight against it. The giggles meant nothing. He told himself he was sure of that.

When the crowd began to arrive for the eight o'clock session the youth had to stand at the foot of the Dress Circle stairs with an armful of glossy programs. After interval he had to fetch a big wooden shutter from a storeroom and carry it to the foyer, place it on the front of the ticket box and click it securely into place. The shutter was heavy and the youth staggered beneath it and took a long while to get it into position. Natalie asked him if he was okay and he nodded yes, straining every muscle to appear as though it was nothing at all. After that he had to go around and empty all the ashtrays in the main foyer and the Dress Circle foyer. Along with the sweeping, those were his main duties. The rest of the time he was to be available if needed.

When he had nothing to do he went to the cleaner's room and sat on an upturned mop-bucket and felt the utter relief of being alone. There was always a game of cards going on in the manager's office, with different people there according to what time it was. Before the movie started the projectionists would be in there, then after the session began there'd be various usherettes and the ladies from the lolly counter. The manager hardly ever left the card game and seemed to let Sharlene run everything else. From his refuge in the cleaner's room the youth could hear the talk. He listened for any mention of himself. The third night he heard one of the usherettes go to the manager's office and say that a patron had chucked up. There was a collective groan.

“Where's that kid?” the manager asked. “What's his name?”

None of them could quite remember.

“Anyway,” said the manager, “get the kid on to it.”

“Have Nat get him on to it,” Sharlene suggested.

“Why Nat?”

“'Cos I think she's won a heart there.”

The youth had only a minute to register what he'd heard. Natalie came and found him and sent him in with a bucket and sponge to clean up the vomit. She lent him her torch so he could see what he was doing.

The fat man who'd vomited was still sitting there. He was only one seat from the aisle so the youth was able to reach the mess. But it was awkward, down on his knees, leaning in past the end seat, holding the torch with one hand and trying to sponge up the smelly gobbets with the other. The man tried to be helpful, moving his big feet from one side to the other. There was a tender love song on screen just then, and the youth thought he heard the man humming the tune. Then there was a moment of comedy and a scatter of laughter came from the parts of the audience furthest from the vomit area. The man gave a belly laugh.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” said someone in an angry voice.

“Isn't it marvellous!” said someone else.

“You wouldn't credit some people,” said another.

The youth was able to look up for an instant at the man's face lit by the screen. He felt sorry for him. It was so awful that the man could only pretend it wasn't happening, or at least that it was only a little mishap and hardly worth anyone taking notice of.

The youth had done all he could. He got to his feet to go. Two of the nearest people thanked him, and someone said, “You're a hero!” He knew this had been said partly to make the fat man feel bad, but it was partly sincere as well.

He went to Natalie to give her torch back. He felt he'd gained in stature. He'd coped with the situation. He'd been called a hero. And it was her torch that he'd used, her torch that she'd entrusted him with.

“It didn't touch any vomit, did it?” Natalie asked when he tried to hand it back. He could see how she was keeping at arm's length from him. He realised he had a smear of vomit down his sleeve.

“It's alright,” she said, backing off and walking away. “I'll get another torch.”

The youth went to the cleaner's room and got some steel wool and disinfectant and rubbed the sleeve of the jacket till the material began to fray.

That night he accidentally wore the tie of his uniform home and forgot to bring it back with him the following evening. He did the top button of his shirt up and hoped he looked presentable enough.

He was sweeping the footpath when he saw the manager looking out from the foyer. What was the manager doing downstairs? The youth figured he must've been told about the tie. Then Sharlene went across and said something. The youth was sure it was about him. The manager went back upstairs. The youth continued to sweep but felt weak and ill. He wished he could summon the nerve to go up to the manager and explain about taking the tie home by mistake.

Later, as he was carrying the big wooden shutter towards the ticket box, the manager walked past him. The youth began to feel shaky and the weight was suddenly too much. The shutter overbalanced and a corner of it banged against the wall. The manager stopped and came across and examined the place where it had hit. There didn't seem to be a mark there. “That was lucky,” he said. He gave the youth a look and the youth was sure he was glaring at where the tie should be.

The following night the youth stood in a doorway across from the Majestic, trying to get a grip on himself. He knew he had to stop being so sensitive. It was getting ridiculous. He had to show a bit of gumption. But he felt unwell and had had the runs all day and finally had to hurry across the road to get to the toilet. After he used the toilet he went to the cleaner's room and put his uniform on. Then he needed to go to the loo again. After that he swept the front footpath and then the foyer, trying to keep well away from the usherettes. He was worried that he might smell from having the runs.

When the crowd began to arrive for the eight o'clock session he went to his place at the Dress Circle stairs and stood there with the programs. He hoped he could get through half an hour or so without needing the loo. As the patrons went past him he worried again that he might be giving off a pong, but told himself not to brood on the idea. He knew he brooded too much.

Patrons kept going past him up the stairs, but hardly anyone wanted a program. The youth got the sense that people were murmuring and whispering.

Natalie came down the stairs and went across to the ticket box. He saw her make a gesture of waving her hand in front of her face, like someone waving a bad smell away, and he saw the usherette in the ticket box grimace in reply. The youth told himself not to read meanings into everything. Sharlene appeared and Natalie said something to her and Sharlene looked over towards the stairs.

Then Sharlene came across the foyer and went past him without a glance. She stopped halfway up the stairs, as though she'd forgotten something, and came back past him again. Then she stopped once more, as though she'd remembered her reason to go upstairs, and turned and went past him a third time.

A party of patrons walked towards him. There were two couples and a young girl of about eleven. She was one of those plump girls who wear glasses and are always fussing about something. She wanted to get a program and fiddled in a purse for the coin while the two couples stood chatting. They fell silent and seemed to look at the youth in an odd embarrassed way. The youth told himself not to imagine things. The girl found her coin and got handed a program and the five of them moved up the stairs.

“God, doesn't he
stink
!” one of them said.

A minute later the manager came down. He told the youth he might be better suited to another line of work and reminded him that the position was casual, so there wasn't any notice period. He'd be paid for the five nights. The youth kept his eyes lowered as he left the building and there were no goodbyes.

For several days he didn't tell the woman he'd been sacked from the Majestic. She was always tired from the housemaid work and fed up with having Mrs. Kincaid on her back. If she became irritated with the youth she'd snap: “It's enough that I've got myself and your brother to keep, and a vicious bloody harpy to please, without having you being gormless!”

So he pretended he was still a pageboy. He would stay out till after eleven each night, wandering the streets after the State Library had closed, then go back and creep to the door of the room and knock softly to be let in. This interrupted the woman's hard-earned sleep and made her more irritated.

She was looking for another job through Mrs. Hardcastle's agency. She wanted to be someone's housekeeper, or companion to an invalid, to have a live-in job in a proper house where she could provide for the boy. Finally Mrs. Hardcastle found her a job as housekeeper–companion to an old lady in a country town in the north of the state. She gave Mrs. Kincaid her notice. “And I'd have given her the back of my hand as well,” she said the next morning, “if she'd so much as looked sideways at me!”

She told the youth they needed to sit down and discuss his situation, now that they'd be leaving the Viceroy's Arms. He revealed that he was no longer a pageboy. The woman looked at him and shook her head.

“You know you've got your whole life to get through, don't you?” she said quietly.

The youth nodded.

“And do you understand that you don't get unlimited chances? You can make mistakes at your age and get away with it, but you need to start making a go of things sooner or later, and sooner is better. Am I talking to a brick wall?”

“No.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

The woman phoned Mrs. Hardcastle to ask if she would give the youth another chance after his poor showing with Mr. Coles. Mrs. Hardcastle spoke of how her clients were like members of her own family. She spoke of the heartache she had to suffer because of being so often let down. She spoke of how her friends told her she was too soft a person to be in business but that she didn't know any other way. She would take the youth back onto her books. In fact she had an opening for him right then. Junior farmhand. Mr. Blackett. Wheat property. Was the youth interested?

“Yes he is, and he'll take it,” the woman said flatly into the phone.

The youth tried to sound like someone who is determined to turn over a new leaf. He remarked that it was good of Mrs. Hardcastle to help him.

“Don't be stupid,” the woman replied. “She's helping you because I'm forking out the fee. She'd have Jack the Ripper on the books as long as the fee was paid!”

 

THE YOUTH
was collected from outside Munnunwal railway station by the whole Blackett family. They'd been shopping in town and came past on their way home. The youth had to squeeze into the back seat of the station wagon alongside the three kids. Mr. Blackett was a tall, thin man with sandy hair who tried to have a bit of conversation but gave up because of the noise the kids were making. Mrs. Blackett was freckle-faced and seemed pleasant but was also put off by the rowdiness.

The youth was being pressed against the door by the nearest kid, Greg, a boy of about twelve. Next to him was a toddler. Against the other door was the girl. She was about fifteen and the youth's thoughts had been focused on her from the first moment.

Greg was grizzling about not having been bought something he'd wanted.

“I never get anything!” he moaned.

“I net gen anyink!” screamed the toddler in turn.

“Don't start the baby off, please Greg,” said Mrs. Blackett. “Let's all settle down.”

“I net gen anyink!” the toddler screamed again.

“Shut up,” said Greg.

“Please don't speak to people that way,” said Mrs. Blackett.

“He's not people,” Greg replied. “He's a drop-kick.”

“Don't be horrible,” said Mrs. Blackett. She handed a packet of jubes to the girl. “Here Meredith, share these around.”

The girl opened the packet and held it across to the youth. He was reflecting on her name. He liked the lilt of it. He was afraid to look at her directly, but he'd got a quick first impression outside the station. She had leant out the window and given him a look up and down which made him horribly self-conscious, but which hadn't seemed unfriendly. She had a freckled face like her mother's and brown hair cut quite short.

The youth went to take a jube from the packet she held out, hoping she wouldn't notice his hand shaking. Greg grabbed the packet and some jubes went on the floor. The toddler tried to grab the packet too, screaming, “I net gen anyink!” Meredith snatched the packet back and a scuffle began, with Greg whining and the toddler shrieking.

Mr. Blackett slowed the car and drew to the side of the road.

“Who knows what I'm wondering at this moment?” he asked in a very serious voice. “Greg? Do you know what I'm wondering?”

“Yes Dad,” said Greg.

“Will you tell us, please?”

“You're wondering what the Lord thinks of us.”

“Exactly right,” said Mr. Blackett.

“I net gen . . .” the toddler started to yell, but sensed there'd been a change of mood. Instead he grabbed at the packet again. Meredith pushed his hand away and inserted a big purple jube into his mouth.

“Yes,” Mr. Blackett went on. “I'm wondering whether the Lord is shaking His head over us right now. Do you think He might be, Greg?”